


Last Goodbye

by xanthippe74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, One Shot, Pining Harry Potter, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/pseuds/xanthippe74
Summary: It's graduation day, and Harry Potter has to say goodbye to more than just Hogwarts.





	Last Goodbye

The sweep of lawn between the castle and the Black Lake was teeming with people attending the Hogwarts graduation ceremony in the hot June sunshine. Harry watched his classmates, some eagerly pulling off their heavy black robes, drift through the crowd to seek out their families. It was a day of celebration, of smiles and hugs and heartfelt congratulations, so different from the somber memorial on the same lawn that marked the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts the month before.

Harry’s eyes slid over the crowd and found the cluster of ginger heads that could only be the Weasley clan. They were gathered around Ginny, laughing at something George had said as he tugged the end of her braid. Harry’s heart ached to see them, knowing he couldn’t join them. Just before the new school term started, a row in the garden of the Burrow with Ginny had roused Molly’s fierce maternal instincts. Harry was asked to leave. He did so in tears, feeling both wronged and desperate for forgiveness at the same time.

It was Ginny, really, who started the row by demanding to know why she and Harry couldn’t start dating again, telling him that she had waited long enough. Harry just couldn’t do it, the idea made him feel trapped, and their argument had escalated into a shouting match that had apparently been heard through the open windows of the house. If Ron were there maybe things could have been resolved, Harry thought bitterly, but he and Hermione had decided to finish their last year of school in Australia. Harry knew all too well that the Weasleys stuck together, and without at least one ally in the family there would be no reconciliation.

Harry dragged his gaze away from the jubilant families and turned to Draco, who was looking equally lost now that the ceremony was over. His mother had not travelled from France to attend the ceremony, and if he was disappointed he didn’t let Harry see it. Harry watched him shift his diploma scroll to his left hand so that he could start slipping open the buttons of his robe. Harry watched his long fingers, feeling hot from both the sun and belated realization that he was staring. Draco didn’t seem to notice, his mind elsewhere judging by the slight frown on his face that Harry now knew meant that he was contemplating something unpleasant.

“Are you done here? Should we go get our trunks?” Harry asked. He had gotten choked up this morning, folding his uniforms and stacking his textbooks in the battered trunk that Hagrid had picked out for him almost eight years ago. His last goodbye to Hogwarts, with no return to look forward to in September. He had tried to cheer himself up with some success by singing “Hoggy, Hoggy Hogwarts” to the tune of “Anarchy in the UK.”

“Yes, let’s go,” Draco said, glancing warily at the crowd. Harry noticed a few people giving them strange looks as they strode towards the entrance to the castle. He had decided months ago to hold his ground when people questioned his friendship with someone from “the other side.” In Harry’s eyes, Draco had shown himself worthy of Harry’s trust and loyalty, and anyone who questioned Harry’s judgement could fuck right off.

Harry had arrived at school in September exhausted from a summer of grieving and desperately missing Ron and Hermione. Draco had been in similar straits, his friends having moved abroad, leaving him without companionship or allies. Their unlikely friendship had seemed slightly absurd at first, with a touch of defiance towards their classmates. The war is over, Harry insisted, when anyone asked him why he was flying or studying with Draco Malfoy, junior Death Eater and all-around bastard.

He didn’t tell anyone that his appreciation for Draco’s dry sense of humor and keenly perceptive mind had slowly turned into a terrible, painful pash. That he felt a swoop in his stomach when Draco looked him in the eyes or laughed at something that Harry said. That he was both elated and terrified by these feelings, because as certain as he was that he had found a person with whom he felt a deep connection, he also knew that Draco didn’t return those feelings.

Yet.

Harry envisioned the next few months as he and Draco crossed into the cooler air of the castle and began to climb the stairs. Draco would spend a few weeks with his mother in France before getting a flat--something posh and tastefully decorated, no doubt--in London. Harry would begin the long overdue renovations to Grimmauld Place and would ask Draco to help him pick out furniture and paint colours, knowing that it would both please Draco to be asked and yield better results than Harry could achieve by himself. They would start their respective training programs or apprenticeships, bicker over what kind of takeaway to get when they studied together, have conversations that lasted long into the night. Harry could imagine the tension growing between them as their friendship grew deeper and Draco’s own feelings began to change.

Harry’s heart beat faster as he thought about this, walking beside Draco towards the Eighth Year dormitory. He was conscious of every inch between their swinging arms, of the slight smell of Draco’s sweat and cologne. Harry didn’t dare even glance at him. Draco was too perceptive, and Harry did not want to be caught out.

The corridors were silent but for their footsteps. It was a strange feeling, having the school almost to themselves while the staff and the other students were still mingling outside. The younger students had left yesterday morning, which the seventh and eighth year students had celebrated with an impromptu picnic by the lake. Handkerchiefs and socks were transfigured into blankets to be spread over the grass, a wireless retrieved from the dorm was played at full volume, and a delegation was dispatched to the kitchens to wheedle some sandwiches and butterbeer from the house-elves. Harry had spent the afternoon half asleep with the grass tickling the back of his neck and the voices of his classmates blurring together into a joyful hum. He wished that Ron and Hermione were there, but he was content to have Draco sitting next to him, even if he was ignoring Harry and talking to some of the Ravenclaws about swotty things. It had been a lovely afternoon.

They arrived at the door of their dormitory. Draco prodded it with his wand to gain entry, and led the way into the Eighth Year common room. Harry followed him silently, dread rising as he realized that they would part soon. For over a month, he would be on his own without their playful and prickly conversations and exhilarating Seekers’ games to sustain him. A month without Draco seemed like an eternity, especially when Harry thought about the dim and dusty rooms of Grimmauld Place. How had this happened, he wondered for the thousandth time. How had Draco Malfoy become the most vital and irreplaceable person in Harry’s life?

It was only when Harry was standing in the doorway of Draco’s room, watching him shrug off and carefully fold his robe, that he realized that Draco hadn’t said a word on the walk back to the dormitory. It was unlike him to be silent. Once he had grown comfortable around Harry, he had unfailingly filled their walks and mealtimes with chatter about their coursework and witty comments about that morning’s Daily Prophet.

Now Draco was bending down to place his robe in his trunk, his chin length hair hiding his face, and Harry was certain that something was weighing on his mind. He knew that Draco didn’t feel their departure from Hogwarts with the same sentimentality that Harry did. He had told Harry that he couldn’t wait to go, which was understandable given the barely concealed hostility of many of the students and some of the staff toward him. Harry wanted so badly to touch him, to tuck his pale hair behind his ear and gently cup his cheek.

“So, I’ll see you in August, I guess?” Harry ventured. He needed Draco to look at him, to get some kind of reassurance that something wasn’t wrong, that Harry hadn’t unknowingly said or done something to irritate him. Instead, Draco straightened and looked out the window, half turned away from Harry.

“No,” Draco said tersely. “I’m not coming back.”

“What? What do you mean you’re not coming back?” Harry demanded.

“I’m not coming back to England. I’m going to do my Potions apprenticeship abroad, it turns out.” He finally looked at Harry, but looked away again when he saw what Harry realized must be a horrified expression on his face.

“But… what about the programs here, the ones you applied to?” Harry managed to ask. It felt like every part of him was grinding to a halt, like a train when the emergency brakes were applied. He couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Rejected,” Draco said, pulling his wand out to slam and lock the lid of his trunk. His hand shook slightly, Harry noticed.

“What, all of them?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Yes, every last one. Apparently, top marks and glowing letters of recommendation aren’t enough for the likes of me. Some of them just tore up my applications and owled them back without a reply. The last rejection came back this morning with a lovely Stinging hex attached,” Draco said bitterly, sitting down on the edge of his bed and slumping forward.

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say and didn’t think he could get any words out anyways. He was falling, like a man jumping out of an airplane in a movie who realizes that his parachute won’t open.  _ Not coming back, not coming back, not coming back.  _ Draco looked up at him, his expression angry.

“Don’t you dare get righteous and indignant on my behalf, Potter. Don’t you fucking dare. I made my bed, and now I’m lying in it,” he snapped, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I thought… I hoped that someone would give me a chance. That you weren’t the only one who could let go of the past.” He looked up to glare at Harry, as if he were to blame for Draco’s optimism.

“I thought they would, too. I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. He still didn’t want to believe that this was happening, that the future that he had daydreamed about for weeks, months, was vanishing like a wisp of smoke. His legs felt shaky, yet he couldn’t seem to move them to go sit down.

Draco rose from the bed and stepped towards his trunk. Harry felt the cold flash of panic in his chest. Draco was about to leave. To leave England. To leave him.

“Will you write to me?” Harry asked, trying to hide his desperation. “We could… I’d like to… keep in touch.”

Draco huffed something between a sigh and a scoff. “What’s the point? I don’t think I’m ever coming back to England. I hoped, I  _ really hoped  _ that I could have a future here. Do something worthwhile to make up for…” He flicked a Levitating charm at his trunk and straightened his shoulders, then turned to face Harry.

“There’s nothing for me here.”

The words were like a stunner to Harry’s chest. He felt himself go numb from the shock of them, right down to his fingertips. When Draco shifted his wand to his left hand and held out his arm for a handshake, Harry stared at him dumbly for a moment. His brain finally woke up enough to extend his own hand and let Draco give it one firm shake.

Draco flicked his wand to make his trunk float toward the door, causing Harry to stumble backwards into the hallway to avoid being hit in the knees. He caught himself against the wall and took another step back to let Draco move past. He didn’t want this to be happening. He didn’t know how to stop it.

_ Please don’t go _ , his mind shouted. _ I think I’m in love with you. Please stay. _

“Best of luck to you, Potter. And thank you… for everything,” Draco said stiffly. He turned and walked toward the common room, his trunk floating ahead of him, as Harry stared at his back.

Then Draco turned the corner and was gone. The door to the corridor opened and closed. Harry leaned against the wall outside Draco’s room and felt his heart pounding,  _ gone, gone, gone _ .

He didn’t know how long he stood there when the door to the common room opened again and the sound of voices drifted toward Harry. He fled to his room, fumbling his wand from his pocket to unlock the door, then slammed it closed after he rushed in. He lunged toward his bed, almost tripping over his trunk before sprawling face down on the bare mattress.

_ Oh God, what had just happened? _ Ten minutes ago, Harry had been fantasizing about a future with Draco, brimming with hope and anticipation.

Harry let the minutes slide by, body leaden with misery. He heard more voices and the doors of neighboring rooms opening and closing. Thankfully, no one disturbed him. He couldn’t bear to see any of them.

_ Anyone with eyes can see you’ve been following him around like a lovesick puppy _ , Ginny had told him a few days ago when she found him putting away some practice Snitches in the Quidditch shed.  _ Some of the Eighth Years even have bets that you’re secretly shagging him. _ Harry had sputtered a denial, his face hot with the humiliation of having his secret longing not being a secret.

How could he face anyone now that Draco had abandoned him, had walked away after declaring that there was nothing to stay for?

He realized then that he hadn’t even asked Draco where his apprenticeship was.  _ Shit. _ Harry sat up and felt a wave of lightheadedness. Draco was probably halfway to the gates by now, or maybe he had already apparated to the Portkey terminal.  _ Shit, shit, shit. _

Harry was tempted, so tempted, to try to get to him. Could he catch up to Draco on foot before he made it outside the school’s wards? Could he fly to him? Then what? When Harry tried to imagine what he would say, what he would ask, the memory of Draco’s cold goodbye made Harry collapse back onto the bed in defeat.

There was nothing he could say to Draco. He had decided to leave and he didn’t even want to write to Harry. Draco was lost to him.

Harry thought of their time together at school that year, of the tentative interactions that eventually extended into conversations. Conversations that became longer and deeper as they learned to trust each other enough to discuss the war and their own fraught history. Harry would always connect the things they talked about with the places where they talked: the Quidditch stands as the autumn sky dimmed to a deep indigo; an uncushioned window seat on the fourth floor, where Harry lost all feeling in his bum from the cold stone; and once, late at night, facing each other from opposite ends of Harry’s bed. Draco’s voice, sometimes sharp, sometimes drawling with sarcasm, often echoed in Harry’s head as he fell asleep.

Had it all meant nothing to Draco? Did Harry mean nothing to him?

Harry’s eyes stung and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself up to a sitting position. He couldn’t break down here. He didn’t want to walk through the castle and past any lingering people looking like he’d been weeping. 

Harry found his wand and lifted his trunk. Instead of the nostalgia he imagined feeling during his final leavetaking, he felt only a desperate need to flee. He opened his door, silently praying to Merlin, Godric, and any other benevolent souls who may be listening that the other Eighth Year students had left. Holding his breath as he walked past Draco’s empty room, Harry left the dorm. He pressed his emotions into a tight coil inside himself and stalked through the castle then down the drive as stiffly and blind to his surroundings as a soldier.

When he stood outside the gates, Harry turned and looked back at the castle.  _ Thank you… for everything, _ he echoed Draco’s words, silently expressing his gratitude to his first home. He struggled to tamp down the grief and pain in order to concentrate on his destination. Just a few more moments, he told himself, visualizing the front steps of Grimmauld Place, gripping his wand and his trunk.

With a deep breath that was the first half of a sob, Harry disappeared.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot that I wrote when my muse was feeling particularly emo and in the mood for heartbreak. It is not part of a longer story, so there won't be any more chapters or a sequel, as much as I love a Happily Ever After ending.
> 
> This is my first posted fic; kind and supportive comments are very much appreciated. I didn't have a beta reader, so any mistakes are (embarrassingly) my own. All typos and grammatical errors found after posting will haunt me in perpetuity.
> 
> Feel free to say hi on Tumblr, where I have the same user name!


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